


Always the Bridesmaid

by Sky_kiss



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, WandaVision (TV)
Genre: Companionable Snark, Crack Relationships, F/M, There's No Point To This, but it'd take them about five minutes to just be best friends, disaster bisexuals break into a wedding and drink, other than the fact that Loki and Agatha would get on like fire and gasoline, soulmates might be a stretch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:06:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29825376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sky_kiss/pseuds/Sky_kiss
Summary: "I’mmore interested in what’s brought an A-lister like yourself to Jersey.” She was tactile. Agatha linked her arm through his. He supposed it was the sensation she craved. His magic feltliquid, silky, as it brushed against her skin.“The ‘sorcerer supreme’ considers meunwelcomein New York." He smirked, "I expect my proximity is triggering all manner of alarms.”“You’repetty. I love that.”Or: a witch and the god of mischief sneak into a wedding. They drink and snark.
Relationships: Agatha Harkness & Loki, Minor Agatha Harkness/Loki but they're both just horrible flirts so don't read into it
Comments: 16
Kudos: 87





	Always the Bridesmaid

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I just...I really think they'd get along. And 18 year old me was desperately in love with Loki and current me is desperately in love with Agatha so I thought...let the drama queens drink. This is absolutely nothing. But I cannot promise I won't jam these two together again in the future.

It was a beautiful establishment. 

Loki hummed to himself, surveying the assembled crowd. Most were laughing, cheeks flushed with alcohol and good cheer in equal measure. The newlyweds were resplendent, sneaking little touches to one another where they could, never quite managing to stray from their mate’s side. The behavior might have come across as endearing, provided one had a frame of reference or had shared the couple’s journey. 

As he lacked this particular lens, he would instead describe them as _nauseating_. He drummed his fingers on the counter, motioning to the bartender. “The red this time, please.” 

The whole ordeal was a happy little coincidence. He’d been in the neighborhood, thoroughly devoid of focus or direction, and here was the wedding. Lavish, well decorated, flowing with alcohol. A quick glamour to slip inside and here he was. 

Drinking alone. Not the worst start to an evening, considering the past decade. 

Crowded as the venue was, he was not surprised to feel the press of an elbow against his ribs. A floral scent, faintly sweet, like autumn and wet leaves, lingered in the air. Earthy was the word for it. The god of mischief frowned. He recognized the accompanying energy. Not a magician, or one of earth’s petty sorcerers... 

“ _Witch_.”

The woman snorted. She was pretty, in her human way, and expressive almost to the points of dramatics. The witch crossed her arms over her chest. “Can’t say that isn’t a memorable way to introduce yourself. Rude, maybe, but memorable.” She pressed herself to the bar, painting on a radiant smile. When the bartender did not immediately respond, she mumbled something to herself. A purple jolt of energy snapped towards the poor sod. He turned towards them as if compelled. She kept smiling. “Martini, please.” 

He nodded, robotic. Loki chuckled into his drink, observing her out of the corner of his eyes. She struck him as an odd creature. Her dress alluded to a handful of different decades, hair wilder than fashionable. He had some difficulty believing that brooch nestled in the hollow of her throat had ever been stylish. He waited until she’d acquired her drink before speaking. “My apologies for the sharpness, madam. You were...unexpected.” 

“Me? Honey, at least _I’m _from the right planet.”__

__He stood to the full extent of his height. Even with her heels he was much taller. “I won’t pretend to know what you mean.”_ _

__“ _Please_. That glamour isn’t fooling anyone.” He motioned around them towards the unsuspecting crowd. The witch shrugged in concession, holding up her drink. “Have to say: you’re much cuter in person, huh? Always looked so _sallow_ on the news.”_ _

__He scoffed. “You have me at a disadvantage. I’ve not had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”_ _

__He quite liked her eyes. They were blue at some angles, almost green at others. The witch held out her hand. All those years at the Asgardian court came rushing back to him. It was second nature to bow, head downcast until she answered. “Agatha, dear. Agatha Harkness. Not exactly hot stuff compared to _Loki of Asgard_.” _ _

__He pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles, smiling against her skin. Magic was bound up in her very being, darker than so many of her sisters. Closer to winter than autumn, death, miasma. Intriguing. “Allow me to make up for my boarish behavior, Miss Harkness. Join me for a drink?”_ _

__She laughed, loud and wild and vivacious. Her free hand pressed against his sternum, fingers curling in the front of his shirt. Magic called to magic. She chewed the inside of her cheek, downing the rest of her martini before sliding the empty glass towards him.  
________ _

__“I, for one, _hate_ weddings.” _ _

__The little witch snickered after she said it, the sound muffled somewhat by her drink. One of the other guests shot them a dirty look. He didn’t care. If the fool decided to make a scene, he’d wipe the entire memory from their feeble human mind. Loki smiled, “Oh?”_ _

__“Mm. Love an open bar, though. Complicates things.”_ _

__“Shall I presume there is no Mr. Harkness?”_ _

__Agatha held up her hand, wiggling the fingers. There were no less than six rings, each imbued with a charm. An emerald to disguise her presence; it explained why he hadn’t sensed her immediately. "This girl’s a solo act.”_ _

__“Rare for a witch.”_ _

__Her mouth pinched, amused. “I’ll let that one slide.” With a sigh, she fetched up to his side. “Been playing a housewife recently, so...maybe that counts.” He arched a brow. Agatha waved him off. “Long story.”_ _

__“We’ve nothing but time and alcohol.”_ _

__“Mmm, maybe later, dear. _I’m_ more interested in what’s brought an A-lister like yourself to Jersey.” She was tactile. Agatha linked her arm through his. He supposed it was the sensation she craved. His magic felt _liquid_ , silky, as it brushed against her skin. _ _

__Loki held his glass up to the light. They’d labeled this a red blend. He would have categorized it as distinctly more_ fruit punch_ than cabernet. He set it aside, untouched. “The ‘sorcerer supreme’ considers me _unwelcome_ in New York. I expect my proximity is triggering all manner of alarms.”

“You’re _petty_. I love that.” 

He chuckled. “Oh, I am so _many_ things, dearest.” 

It was difficult to say if the reaction was a skillful act or an artless response. Agatha’s tongue swept along her front teeth, a tantalizing little flick of pink. “Get us another round. I’ll find us a booth.”

She finished the rest of his drink before she went.  
_______

A few whispered words and the couple currently occupying the booth were persuaded to take their leave. Agatha grinned, residual traces of magic lingering about her fingertips. Purple. Odd for a witch. There was enough room in the booth for six or seven guests. She settled against his side regardless, half draped across his chest. The witch shrugged his arm over her shoulders. 

“You’re rarely talented for a human,” he said, lifting her hand to inspect it. Agatha chuckled. A little more energy jumped to her fingertips, filling the booth with a dim purple glow. 

“That was _almost_ a compliment.” 

“It’s no poor reflection on you. Your kind is short-lived.” He conjured a knife to his hand, sent it away with another flick of his wrist. A simple conjuration, performed in one smooth gesture. “I was a master of magic centuries before your coven _dreamt_ of fleeing west.” 

“Easy now.” She tipped her head back against his chest. The spill of her hair tickled the underside of his chin. He refused to give her the satisfaction of moving. Agatha held her glass up to him. “Mama’s pushing three-fifty. Give or take fifty years.”

“Truly?” She nodded. “ You do look ravishing for your age, darling.” He took her glass, sipping once. Transmutation was not one of his specialties, but he was adept enough to shift the composition of the wine. They needed something stronger, something older. Something to match their more dignified palettes. He passed it back to her for inspection, pleased with her little hum of approval. 

He relaxed against her, motioning to the crowd. The lot was noticeably more intoxicated. A few were dancing. More had regressed to drunkenly swaying together. The thrumming bass was ill-suited for such an elegant establishment. “I must say that is _quite_ refreshing. I feel like I’m surrounded by children every time I visit this damned planet.

“ _Believe_ me, I know.” She shook her head, lips pursing. “The number of twenty-somethings wailing that their lives are over...gets old.” Agatha snorted. The more she drank, the more boneless she seemed. She made a sweeping gesture with her right hand, lax. Pinpricks of magic followed suit. “ Honestly, you should _see_ the young thing I’m working with now.” 

“Another witch?” 

“Mmm-hmm. Avenger type. Dead parents, dead brother…” She ticked each term off on her fingers, ending with another derisive scoff. 

“...the usual, then.” He sighed, taking their drink back from her. “How _tedious_.” 

She laughed. “You know, that’s exactly what I thought. Girlie’s powerful though, I’ll give her that. Got her own little paradise way out in Jersey. Sitcom theme. _No_ idea what the point of it is.” 

“Such a _waste_.” 

She chewed her lower lip between her teeth. “ _We_ would never waste that kind of power. Would we, dear?”

The god of mischief huffed. “No. We would not.”  
_________

The wedding was winding to a close. It'd been a fine evening, evidenced by the variety of glasses strewn across the table. The happy couple had wandered off some hours prior. Only a few drunks remained. In another fifteen minutes or so, the bartenders would be escorting them out. 

“Her dress," Agatha tugged on his lapel to catch his attention. She was more languid than ever. “What do we think?” 

The girl might have been pretty under less extenuating circumstances. The amount of tequila she'd imbibed throughout the evening would have unmade Freya herself. Loki shrugged. “Tacky.” 

“ _Really_?” 

“Forgive me, dearest, I’ve never been one for lace.” 

Her eyes glittered. “More of a leather guy?”

He shrugged. “No Asgardian ever looked worse in it.” The bartender glanced in their direction, up towards the clock. A simple bit of illusion would buy them all the time in the world, but alcohol had left him lax and in fine spirits. He couldn’t be bothered. He stood, holding his hand out to the witch. “A well-polished suit of chain has never gone amiss either.” 

Agatha snorted. She should have been less steady on her feet, all things considered. From the looks of things, she was no more inebriated than he. She stuffed her free hand in her pocket, waiting for him to join her. Her smile had that edge again, “Wouldn’t you know it, I left my chainmail at home.” 

They lingered in front of the venue. A cool breeze blew in off the river, not quite fresh. They were still too close to New York for that, that particular bouquet of smells wafting in from the docks. Agatha adjusted her rings, rocking her weight back on her heels. “Thinking of slumming it in Jersey a little longer?” Agatha finally said.

"No plans at all.” There was something oddly comforting in that. For the first time in so many years, he was free. No plots, no debt to megalomaniacs, no prisons to escape; it was liberating. It was tedious. “I should lay low for a time. Or see to building some bridges. I seem to have burnt all mine.”

“Recovery period. I get that.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Well, I should be getting back to my sitcom. No telling _when_ she’ll need me for a subplot.”

“Yes, you never did explain that whole...situation.” 

“And now we don’t have the time. Shame, isn’t it?” She grinned at him, lip caught between her teeth. “I’d say you could come along but...if you’re intending to walk the straight and narrow…” she let the sentence drift off, all unspoken potential. 

Ah, and where else did he have to be? No friends. No Asgard. Thor wandering the fringes of the universe. The truth was he’d enjoyed the witch’s company. He enjoyed power. He enjoyed breaks from the monotony of the centuries.

What better way to indulge than a spot of fiction, tucked away in suburban America? The god of mischief offered her his arm. “We’ll be staying in Jersey, I take it?” 

“Westview, New Jersey. Got it in one. ” 

“How quaint. And how do you intend to integrate me into this story?” 

“About that. I _did_ have an idea.” Her grin widened. The witch hugged his arm to her chest, walking them down the marina. “Just one question, hot stuff...any aversion to the name Ralph? No opinion? Great. So, you're Ralph…"


End file.
